


Disco Night (extended cut)

by sebviathan



Category: Gravity Falls, Swooning Over Stans: A Grunkle Dating Sim
Genre: Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, POV Second Person, Porn with Feelings, Reader-Interactive, basically you can choose whether to top or bottom, stan is a service top, which is just a bottom with vulnerability issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 15:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15246216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebviathan/pseuds/sebviathan
Summary: Or, if Robbie had waited just twenty more minutes or so to drive up to Lookout Point.





	1. Disco Night

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't know about the [Grunkle Dating Sim](https://gfdatingsim.tumblr.com/), I implore you to check it out and to play it. It's a fanmade project and completely free and ridiculously well-made. 
> 
> I'm not affiliated with the project, though. I'm just gay and thirsty.
> 
> Speaking of which, I should clarify that the Reader POV in this fic has a penis and balls, and not NECESSARILY a flat chest but at least one that isn't in a bra or binder. I don't mean to equate maleness with dicks and balls--I myself am trans and I have a LOT of genital dysphoria, and it's helpful for me to basically write myself in the position where I have the junk that I'd be most comfortable having and using.
> 
> Also, in the biggest show of self-indulgence I've ever made, there's a bit of interactivity to this absolute porn. Just know that the chapters in this fic don't function like they usually would, and use the links in the end notes to go between choices instead.

"I think we could do better," you say, thinking that you mean it mostly as a joke to keep things from being awkward, to ease the tension—

And then  _knowing_ , once Stan's lips are on yours and his hands are on your face again, what you truly hoped for. He in particular seems to be taking it seriously.

Where your first kiss a mere moment ago had you forgetting to breathe in favor of focusing on him, now you're lightheaded regardless. Stan's kiss is firm and draws the heat from your mouth, and his hands are rough and his fingers curl around your jaw and press into your neck just hard enough that you can hear your own pulse, and it is  _deafening_ , and—

You don't know if it's just how long it's been since you've last kissed someone or if it's  _Stan_ , but in any case... the discomfort from twisting around like this in the seat at least wins out against your dizziness. Miraculously, you regain some ability to  _think_  and you reach out assuredly for Stan's collar to pull him down.

In your desperation you might have pulled a bit too hard, though, as there's a sharp noise of surprise in Stan's throat and against your mouth while you drag him down into a better position—but then he laughs, and grins against your lips, and his own confidence seems to grow even further.

His hands shift to grasp at the hair above the nape of your neck and at the back of your shirt, and you can't help but gasp. Then Stan's tongue is sliding past your lips and along your own.

" _Mm—_ "

You clutch so hard at Stan's hair that you think you're pulling some of it out, and in return Stan sucks at your lips, at your tongue—

— _oh, fuck—_ at your jaw, at your  _neck_...

Stan's stubble scrapes across your skin as he kisses down your neck and collarbone, matching your gasps with hums against you on the way. Part of you wants to tell him to slow down, to show you some fucking  _mercy_ , but... you're too lost. Your breath is coming out short and your head is swimming and every inch of skin that Stan puts his mouth on is  _searing_... and god, you can't even bring yourself to mind all the beard-burn that you're going to have later.

"Stan," you mutter outside of yourself, as he trails his fingers down your spine—and again, in more of a groan, when he kisses a trail up to your earlobe and sucks.

He hums with you again, though now it sounds more like he's laughing at you. You don't have the energy to be mad.

But with his mouth doing  _that_ , and with one of his hands in your hair and the other rubbing up and down your side  _just_  firmly enough...

God, your pants are getting painfully tight.

"Holy  _shit_ , Stan," you finally manage to say with a breath of a laugh, when his fingertips rake over your chest. "God, you—you  _trying_  to get me unreasonably hard or what?"

For the first time since you took hold of his collar and dragged him closer, Stan backs away. You feel momentarily empty without his heat over you, until you blink the world back into view and find his face as red as your own must be—and just an inch across from yours.

Your heavy-lidded eyes meet, and his hand slides from your chest down to your thigh until his thumb rests on your pants zipper. He coughs.

"Do you—"

"You don't have to," you interrupt his gravelly tone before you can even register it.

It probably sounds silly to him, but you'd rather not risk it if it doesn't. You don't want him to feel obligated to "take care of you" just because he got you worked up—you almost regret even mentioning it until,

"No, I—I want to," he says, breathing hard, eyes flitting across your face. "I wanna—shit, I'm sorry if this is too much, I just... want you to have a good memory of me when you leave—"

You pull him forward by the back of his neck to kiss him again, hoping that that's assuring enough.

When you told Stan how you felt about him, you didn't imagine it would turn to this so quickly. You purposely excluded mentioning feelings of this nature so that he wouldn't think sex was all you wanted from him. And it  _isn't_ —God, it  _really_  isn't, but...

All you can focus on, now, is the feeling of Stan massaging your erection through your pants, making you buck your hips forward and into his hand—and Stan grinning against your mouth as you do it a second time, harder and faster and more obviously desperate, and Stan cruelly pulling away  _again_ , probably to get a good look at your face in the moment that he tugs your zipper down.

The relief is immediate and it  _must_  look good on you, if the way that Stan bites his lower lip is anything to go on. Then his hand is between denim and your boxers, fingers mapping the length of your cock until finally,  _finally_  pulling that waistband down and wrapping around it.

Your vision goes hazy for a moment, but it quickly doesn't matter because Stan's mouth is on yours again, swallowing your moans while he jacks you off.

In an effort to keep from losing it too quickly, you make a point of sliding your own hand away from Stan's neck and down to his waist, tugging his shirt out of his pants, palming at his chest, dragging your fingers across his chest hair, squeezing his thighs and wherever else you can reach—

And he moans back into your mouth, but doesn't shift around or shrug any clothes off like you thought he might. He only pulls away for a very brief moment, after a few minutes, and licks his palm before putting it right back on your cock.

You breathe out a sharp " _fuck_ " just seeing that, and then groan again as Stan's slicked hand resumes pumping you dry.

It's louder than you expected, but you realize that that's because Stan's mouth isn't on yours to muffle it anymore—that he's kissing and sucking at your neck again, and—

 _God_ —

"You just wanna hear how much I like this, don't you?" you breathe, to Stan's  _immediate_  moan against your neck in affirmation.

A fraction of a second later, Stan's free hand is pulling the back of your shirt out of your pants and sliding up onto your bare spine. You would appreciate it more if this position wasn't growing to feel just as awkward as you did before, particularly if your left leg wasn't folded in between you and the crevice of the seat.

And it seems that the moment you give any thought to it, the discomfort grows,  _demanding_  to be acknowledged until, another minute or so later, you just can't take it anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **[[Tell Stan that this position is getting uncomfortable.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15246216/chapters/35362722) ]** / **[[Fix it yourself.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15246216/chapters/35362815) ]**


	2. Tell Stan that this position is getting uncomfortable.

" _Stan_ ," you moan without meaning to, then—"Stan...  _fuck_ , Stan, my leg is falling asleep real bad..."

You laugh at your own predicament after it's out of your mouth, but Stan doesn't hesitate to pull away and frown at the leg in question, then at the rest of the space in the car. Another fraction of a second and he's smirking, his hands now on either of your hips.

"I can fix that," he says huskily into your ear, and even in this state you're compelled to make a  _Holes_  reference in response—

Or you would, if you weren't caught off guard by Stan climbing over you until he's kneeling in the footspace of the passengers' side, pulling you around by the hips in the process, and then fumbling for the lever that will push the seat back as far as it will go.

He doesn't skip a beat in getting his mouth around the head of your cock.

Your heart skips several.

"Ho-oly  _shit_ ," you moan sharply as Stan swallows you down. He pulls off and grips you in his hand soon after, grinning up at you. "Why—Stan... why are you—"

"Gotta keep you from makin' a mess in my car," he answers your unfinished question in a low chuckle, dipping back down a moment later to pull your waistband even lower and lick a stripe from your balls to the tip of your shaft.

You let out the loudest and most abrupt yelp _yet_  and immediately cover the lower half of your face with your hand, but—

"Aw, don't hide that face from me, sweetheart..." You feel your erection pulse when he calls you that. Fuck. "You got such a  _nice_  face."

He has one hand massaging the leg that was falling asleep a minute ago. You feel compelled to take your hand off your mouth and shift it to cover his and,  _somehow_ , to say,

"Oh, you really think so?"

The look on Stan's face, then, even with your cock just below his lips, is downright  _adoring_.

"Yeah, I think so."

He certainly can't see your face when he's bobbing his head up and down on your cock, but you keep your hands off of it regardless. You find you'd much rather keep your hands in Stan's hair and on top of Stan's own, whether he chooses to put it on your thigh or slide it up to your chest and rub at your nipples poking through your shirt, or  _underneath_  your shirt—

" _Stan_ ," you groan and clutch his hair tighter, promptly feeling him moan around your cock.

That pushes you over.

"Fu- _huuuck, Stan,_  I, I'm—" Your hips try to jerk forward, but Stan pins them to the seat. Your eyes cloud up with uncontrollable tears and your knuckles practically go  _white_ , and, and,

And you come into Stan's mouth groaning his name, gasping with each pulse that leaves you—looking down at him and expecting his face, but finding him only determined to drain you of every last drop until the overstimulation is damn near painful.

As hard as you try, it isn't until he zips your pants back up that he allows you to pull him up to face-level and kiss him on the mouth again. He makes a noise that sounds almost like surprise when you slip your tongue past his lips, but you can't find the energy to dwell on it. You just want to melt into him. You want  _him_  to melt into you.

And  _melt into you_ , he does.

He slumps his shoulders and rests his elbows on your thighs, and he groans in relief when you rub circles with your thumbs into either side of his surely  _aching_  jaw. If you were a little less delirious you'd be in more disbelief that Stan actually managed so consistently for so long.

You'd also be in much more disbelief that he feels the need to ask,

"Was that good?"

Even now, you're at a loss for words. All you can think to do to answer that is go wide-eyed, nod vigorously, and kiss him again.

Stan pulls away soon after, however, at the sound of another car pulling up. You remember that this  _is_  a popular place in this town for couples to drive up to and be intimate.

"Yeesh, I guess that's pretty good timing," he says, glancing at the other driver for only a split second. Then he's hiking his leg up on the seat and climbing back into the driver's spot, and leaving you wondering—

"Wait, what about you?"

He doesn't seem to understand what you mean until you scoot close to him again and lay a hand on his thigh. Then he just laughs.

"Don't worry about me, kid."

"What? Are you... sure?"

" _Course_  I'm sure—it's late, you're exhausted, and a couple teenagers who are just about the  _last_  people on earth who I'd want to accidentally catch a glimpse of my dick just pulled up next to us."

You can't help but giggle at that, but you still want to point out that you could get him off somewhere other than here, and that it isn't  _fair_  that he would do so much for you and not get enough in return—

And he seems to see it on your face, because after he starts the car he sighs and says,

"I swear, I'm fine. Just get some rest, huh?"

With that he puts one hand on the steering wheel, and wraps his other arm around your shoulders. You let him pull you close and you lean into him with ease because, truly, you  _are_  exhausted.

And you decide, as you inhale Stan's scent through his jacket and as you begin to fall asleep to the low rumble of the engine, that you will simply have to get even with him tomorrow.

 

**[[Next morning -->](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15246216/chapters/35362872) ]**


	3. Fix it yourself.

"Wait, dammit—"

Stan backs up again as you as you say that, ever the gentleman, but that doesn't occur to you as you act on some confident impulse and push him back into the seat. In retrospect you think that he's merely too surprised to resist, rather than that you're suddenly strong enough to manhandle him in any way, though in the moment he still gasps and stares back with unmistakable arousal.

And he gasps  _again_  when you settle into his lap, your erection now pressing into his stomach.

"Oh, that's so much better," you groan immediately, even as the top of your head grazes the roof of the car.

You take a second to stretch your leg as well as you can, and then you take Stan's surprised face in both hands and pull him in for the roughest kiss you've had all night. He moans into your mouth, and hearing it fills you with even  _more_  desire—he didn't expect you to take charge like this, you're sure. But you want so badly to give him what he's been giving to you.

" _Woah_ —" Stan grabs the top of your head when you bump it into the car roof a second time, eyes widening in concern as you pull back. "You alright?"

He's clearly flustered—enough that he hasn't touched your cock since you got on top of him, or even put his hands anywhere but your hips and your hair. You feel a deep amusement bubbling up in your chest.

" _Yeah_ ," you mutter only  _after_ you kiss him again and grind your hips forward.

Your cock drags against the satin of his shirt, where his belly sticks out just above his beltline. It's just enough friction to get you groaning against him—and to subsequently remind Stan what he was  _doing_ , it seems, as he slides a hand between you once more.

At once you buck up into his hand, saved from hitting the roof yet again by Stan's quick thinking. Very quickly after that, you think of the perfect way to prevent further bumps.

"Holy  _shit_ , kid—"

Stan moans and lets out an  _undoubtedly_  embarrassed laugh when your mouth leaves his and begins trailing down his neck instead. You're a little less careful than he was with you, but rather determined to drive him fucking  _wild_. To show him how much you want him, because  _god_ , you do.

You relish the burn of his stubble once again, and moreso his rough  _gasps_ , as you leave sucking kisses up the line of his jaw. You lick and kiss down his neck and back up again until you find his earlobe, and with no shame at all you take it into your mouth and suck  _hard_ —

And Stan yelps and jerks, which is—even as his hand leaves your cock and grasps at your side instead— _exactly_  what you wanted.

 _So you can dish it out but can't take it, huh, old man?_  you can't help but think, but which you decide not to say aloud. Mercifully, you merely kiss down his neck again, softer this time, and listen to his breathing settle back down. Then your lips find where his chest hair begins, and you're struck with another sudden desire.

"Can I unbutton this?" you breathe, pulling up enough to see Stan's flushed face, and with your hand already partway inside his shirt. But before he can even answer, you realize—"Actually, shit—can I just—?"

You push your hand up to grab the collar of Stan's coat, and he nods quickly and breathlessly and begins shrugging it off before you finish asking. He tosses it in the back seat and within the next second that button is undone too, and your mouth is on his collarbone, and your cock is throbbing from a lack of touch but you can only think to put your hands on his chest, to clutch  _fistfulls_  of that bush and to palm over his nipples, to arch your neck and to get your  _mouth_  as close to them as you possibly can—

And Stan moans your name and jerks again. Without thinking, you drop one hand to his belt.

You had wondered, for a minute, if the reason that Stan hadn't made any attempt to take care of himself yet was because he just couldn't get it up. It certainly wasn't farfetched to think, considering Stan's age—hell, it isn't entirely uncommon at your  _own_  age, either... but you can feel, now, that he's just as hard as you are underneath that buckle. If not even  _harder_.

 _Now_ , you have to assume that he was either too focused on you to care about himself, or that he's to some extent insecure about his body or how old he is, or... that he is just too hopeless to function when he's like this.

You're not sure which you would prefer to be true. But you  _do_  know that, whichever it is, you will  _not_  let Stan go unconsidered.

"Oh— _shit_ ," he breathes, with another short laugh, right after the  _clink_ of his belt finally coming open. "I... you sure?"

You think you know which one of those reasons it is, now.

You lock gazes with him as you move one of his hands back to your cock, and slip the opposite of yours into his pants—and  _god_ , his cock is thick, and hot, and  _rock_ -fucking-hard, and it jumps the moment you have your hand on it.

"Stan, babe, I am  _so_  fucking sure."

And you pull his erection out of his boxers, promptly rocking your hips forward until it's flushed against your own.

Stan gasps your name again. But he's only beyond repair for a moment before wrapping a rough hand around the both of you and grasping desperately at your back, a sudden glint of determination in his eyes. Your heart  _leaps_  at that glint, and you follow it, shooting forward to get your mouth on Stan's—to press yourself as close to him as you can, to keep grinding your cock into his grip, nevermind this heat and how badly you're sweating, now...

You don't hold back. You have one hand fisting Stan's hair and the other inside his shirt, palming his chest again, and you're moaning unabashedly into Stan's mouth and sucking hard on Stan's tongue, and you are burning the hell up but you _cannot_  stop. You want Stan so bad, you've been thinking about him so much, you want to make him come undone and you want to be the  _best_  he's ever had, you—

You take your mouth off of his and duck your head down to the crook of his neck, so you can hear how much he likes this.

So he can hear  _you_ , ragged breathing and groans of his name and all, while you come into his hand.

" _Oh_  my f—"

Stan's breath does something weird as he tightens his grip and picks up the pace in his strokes, squeezing every last drop out of you until you think you're  _crying_ , and,

—and,

—he moans your name, almost  _purposefully_ , as his own hips jerk in that telltale, disjointed manner.

After what feels like forever, he slumps back in the seat with a final groan, his hands falling to rest on your legs. You let your body relax on top of him, and you remain like that entirely until your breathing has settled.

In your daze, you catch the sound of another car pulling up. It doesn't occur to you to think anything of it, though, until you then hear it starting again and driving away... and you glance to the passenger window to find it completely fogged up.

Stan laughs before you do.

"Probably scared 'em off," he mutters.

You immediately wonder if, had they driven up sooner, they would have been able to  _hear_  you, too. Then you smirk to yourself at the idea.

And  _then_  you realize how uncomfortable all this heat is now that you're done, and you  _need_  to climb off of Stan and air yourself out—oh, shit, and put your dick back in your pants—before you fucking  _die_.

Luckily Stan feels the same, and he doesn't hesitate to start the car so he can turn the A/C on.

" _Oh_ , sweet jesus," he groans at that first blast of cold hair. You let out a similar noise of relief.

Not too long after, you think to turn to him with a big, dumb grin, and tell him,

"That was... uh, holy  _shit_ , Stan."

He grins back. "Flattery will get you... everywhere."

"God, I hope so."

His eyes shine with something funny, then, along with the same fatigue that you're feeling. Or—maybe not, because he at least has the energy to find something to wipe his hand off on, and to smooth both his and your hair down to something respectable, and to back up out of Lookout Point and start on the way back to the shack.

You don't know how he can possibly do that, considering how heavy  _your_  eyelids feel, now.

But you can't bring yourself to think too much about it. Or to really do much at all but lean against him and, just before sleep takes you, to mumble,

"Those were some pretty fuckin'  _good_  memories that you just gave me, if I do say so myself."

 

**[[Next morning -->](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15246216/chapters/35362872) ]**


	4. Next morning (end)

You're woken up by a girlish scream, followed by pounding on the door.

"GRUNKLE STAN! GRUNKLE STAAAAAN!" Without waiting for a response the door is practically slammed open, and the girl in question runs into the room. "Grunkle Stan, have you seen—?"

On instinct you push yourself up from the bed and start rubbing the crust from your eyes, only to make some of the most terrifying eye-contact of your life.

Mabel's frozen scream turns into a smile so wide you're almost worried that she's going to hurt herself. Or... you would be if you were conscious enough to really process it.

Then there's more footsteps and another familiar figure in the doorway, whose eyes are almost immediately averted and covered by a six-fingered hand.

"Uh—Mabel,  _sweetie_ , why don't you give them some privacy, hm?"

"Oh!" She jumps where she stands and almost immediately starts rushing out of the room, but keeps talking the whole time—" _SorrynevermindbutcongratulationsohmygodIhopeyougetmarriedsoon_ —!"

Then the door shuts again. A little more conscious now, you hear Stan chuckle.

He rolls over just enough to throw an arm around you and effortlessly pull you back to bed.

 

**[[Make a different choice?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15246216/chapters/35362638#chapter_1_endnotes) ]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is undoubtedly some of the most explicit porn I've ever written. I'd like to thank the writers of the Grunkle Dating Sim, particularly [Isa](http://behind-a-wall-of-illusion.tumblr.com/) for writing the last date with Stan that got me hot and bothered enough to need to write this in the first place. And I dearly hope that yall got as much satisfaction from this as I did.


End file.
